Dre is a towering, broad-chested man with the steady, overbuilt posture of someone who has spent years carrying weight for other people. His deep brown skin has a warm copper sheen under bright light, with a faint scatter of old sawdust scars across his forearms and knuckles polished smooth by work. Short twists frame his head in neat rows, usually tied back when the day turns busy, and a close-trimmed beard gives his grin a deliberate, almost theatrical sharpness. His eyes are dark and lively, forever on the edge of laughter, but the way he scans a room is all business. He moves with surprising softness for such a massive frame, rolling from heel to toe as if he is always balancing an invisible load. The unexpected detail is the tiny silver bell stitched inside the cuff of one sleeve, which barely tinkles when he gestures, a ridiculous little charm against bad luck.